Yes, You
by MissVintageMovie
Summary: High school was over. They never were.


**A/N: So I felt inspired to write about a darker outcome for John and Claire. No longer a teen, i view the characters and film much differently. It's interesting to note that sometimes cliques and what other people think can follow you even after school days. Relationships are messy and not always black and white.**

* * *

The familiar deep rumble of his motorcycle pulled up toward her driveway, signalling his return with an excuse on hand. Her fingers trembled as she waited, hand on the back of her neck as it blushed furiously. Taking a deep breath and heading to the kitchen, she let the water faucet trickle as she pressed her cool fingertips to her neck. Who was she turn him away once again after everything? The many times she sensed being used could've made her sick but it didn't.

And with every touch and look, he was hers. It was hard to explain the common understanding they had to anyone.

No longer than a minute later, her door swung open. They locked eyes and in a flash, though it had been a couple of years, nothing had seemed to change.

"Tryin' to distract me from which pad is yours?" Bender cockily sneered at her. Always with something smart to say, and her house _had_ in fact been renovated since she last saw him. With her Daddy's help, she had successfully bought herself a condo. Her career as an events manager executive was underway, fresh out of college and busy. Very different to her soulmate's grind.

Feeling the insecurity of the school girl she once was was inevitable with John's presence. "Close the door, if you don't mind." She simply stated, turning away from him and attempting to distract herself from the mixture of sensations and feelings going on inside her. Rebellion, lust and love.

 _Oh boy,_

she needed a large glass of wine to get through it. With a simple flourish she produced two glasses and poured the tasty, rich stuff she was accustomed to drinking. She knew Bender didn't care much for wine, he was more of an easy shot or two, knock-it-back-flask dude.

"So, what's new with you?" She asked him, finally turning her attention to him, sipping mindfully.

"Cherry, whaydda think, really?" Her guilty pleasure was the way he called her that. Looking at him longer as his hands were splayed across the kitchen counter, he hadn't aged much since that fateful day at detention. Five years older, but still the same old John Bender. Involved in some cop scandal, on the run or broke. Craving her comfort after life in his dark trailer park life.

Claire had dipped her toes into that life on and off for the past four years, no they had never been official. Longer than a few weeks was a miracle, and their strange, secret almost friendship had stood the test of time so far.

It wasn't through until they finished their first glass that they tasted each other's beverage on their breaths as they came together like usual. Her hands searched his body, feeling both the the old and familiar, and new and mysterious scars and cuts until her fingers twisted through his hair, guiding him to hold her, like she loved to be held. He was her first lover but certainly not her last, of course she felt things for him, a devotion to protect and a weakness that scared the living daylights out of her. He couldn't stop abusing drugs or alcohol, beyond damaged goods. She couldn't live a life like that no matter how much she wanted him.

John Bender knew it, and under his hard shell it killed him to know she was pampered and spoiled, given things from her toy boys that he could only afford in his wildest dreams. He wouldn't beat around the bush — Claire had always been materialistic but genuine. His hand swept across her delicate skin to take her in, it was porcelain and still young to the horrors of life using them. But the guy knew her by heart, and she him. He was less inclined to putting on a front and dealing with people he couldn't relate to or hardly stand. There was no compromise, only physically.

Kisses, soft bites and pressure from his hands trailed from her toes to the tip of her head, he inhaled her sweet scent, burying his nose in her hair as he deeply groaned with a hint of pleasure and relief. Everything about Claire was addicting, that is when she wasn't arguing with him. At the same time, he thrived getting under her skin.

John was coarse and rough, but my god, her body and mind spent days recovering from his touch. She never told him but she filled a void in him, left by his seemingly heartless parents, and ultimately helping him in any way she could.

He gave her a dose of real life, true freedom to be herself and a reminder of how good being a woman could feel like.

She didn't dare whisper she missed him or loved him, or ask if he came back because he changed his mind. Claire was used to being as discarded as their clothes laying all around her living room. And what was there to guess when she read him like a book? He didn't need to say it either since it clearly showed, actions spoke louder than his penetrating words. In between their heat, and the tousle of his head the earring she had given him all those years ago glistened in the pale moonlight. Had he never removed it? Why ruin life's little blessing in disguise when it was enough for them both to enjoy?

* * *

Afterwards, she hops onto his black motorcycle for a midnight ride. They stop at a gas station and picked up cans of coca cola, to revive the spirit of nostalgia.

Without fail, and without doubt she overshared with him, the downs and outs, the joys and fails of her engaging yet lonely life. John rarely beat her up about anything or do anything but hear her out. Offering his word when needed.

Claire rarely if ever smoked, but with him she would. She had tried just about everything there was at their first go of things together after high school. Of course it didn't last, there were no real sockets for hairdryers, no shopping outlet for miles, plus she wasn't fond of burning joints or going on a bender with John Bender every weekend.

Under her father's thumb, there was also a part of her that didn't want to shame her family or tarnish her future.

He could've tried if he really wanted to fight for her—to attend dinner parties, and live a good, loving life, have everything handed to him on a golden platter just because. But he didn't, and wouldn't. Not in this life. That was the problem— their mutual pride and separate issues.

* * *

And like a late October leaf dragging and dancing, quickly scuttling away as a new season approached, he was gone. Never for long.


End file.
